


Dark Charlie's

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ahead there be spoilers, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Crack, Card Games, Crack, Dark Charlie, Death, Demon Dean, F/F, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Horsemen, Implied Relationships, Leviathans, M/M, Poker, Poker Nights, Prophets, Reapers, Soulless Sam Winchester, Spirits, Spoilers, Trickster Gabriel, Trickster Loki, Vampires, Witch Ruby, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:49:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a place in one of the infinite universes where Earth still exists, which is known to fewer than thirty beings, and which is impossible to find without an invitation, in part because it is never in the same location twice. It is a bar, a Roadhouse at the crossroads of wicked and corrupted, and it is called Dark Charlie’s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation to Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rules to play...

There is a place in one of the infinite universes where Earth still exists, which is known to fewer than thirty beings, and which is impossible to find without an invitation, in part because it is never in the same location twice. It is a bar, a Roadhouse at the crossroads of wicked and corrupted, and it is called Dark Charlie’s.

An invitation to Dark Charlie’s is extended only to those its proprietor deems worthy. It has little to do with power, though many of those who attend gatherings there are in possession of far too much of that. An invitation is received by those who have two irresistible qualities Dark Charlie herself appreciates above all others: scary and sexy. It is her place, and therefore it is her determination as to who meets these requirements. There is no tolerance for questioning who receives an invitation and who does not. The regulars know better, and have learned to trust her judgement.

At Dark Charlie’s, there is a game played, presided over by one Patrick, a nine hundred year old witch, who knows the game like no other being alive. Once Dark Charlie has chosen the players, Patrick places four at each table, and with a flick of his wrist, he deals every deck simultaneously, then leaves it to deal itself for the rest of the game. Every deck is under his control at all times, while he sips at his drinks from his own table.

There are rules, and one line to explain consequences. At one time, there were just three rules, which were currently listed as the first, second and eighth rules. Over time, it grew to include the first eight. And now there were ten, written in blood in large, calligraphic letters on a sign at the door. The sign looked like this:

**Rules:**

**1) Dark Charlie has the final word in any dispute.**  
**2) There will be no permanent damage done to any player by any player.**  
**3) Any side bets may not include permanent damage done to any player.**  
**4) Any side bets may not include catastrophic or apocalyptic damage to any part of the world.**  
**5) Any side bets may not cause death, torture or soul extraction of any mortal.**  
**6) Side bets in general are discouraged and may be voided at Dark Charlie’s discretion.**  
**7) Dispelling or otherwise teleporting another player slows down game play, so refrain.**  
**8) Former alliances and rivalries will not be acknowledged at Dark Charlie’s.**  
**9) There will be no karaoke at Dark Charlie’s.**  
**10) Demon Dean Winchester, this means you.**

**Failure to comply with these rules is punishable by Death personally.**

These statues of decorum have been sufficient to ensure the collective enjoyment of all patrons for years, and Death has only stepped in four times during the last several decades to enforce them.

Interestingly, the more mortal of the participants-for mortal is in fact relative when Death is a member of any gathering-tend to bring tributes of various edibles for the pleasure of the Grim Reaper. It is this practice which many credit with the odd way these mortals continue to arrive for games long after their natural lives should have claimed them. Others suspect Patrick sells them the special chips he uses in other games in return for personal favors and tasks out in the world. In any case, there is never a question of whether a player will miss a game due to something so trite as natural death. Not among this group, where supernatural was the norm, and scary has gotten sexy.


	2. Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guests arrive.

It was clear upon arrival where they were meant to sit. In the far past, some had attempted to change their seating assignment, and bad things had happened. Patrick did not appreciate the sabotage of his careful plans.

So when the large figure slipped in like a shadow, he immediately headed for the chair with the eerie symbol glowing into the back of it which only he could see. As soon as he sat, his drink appeared before him, and he smiled. “Thank you kindly,” he murmured, for which he received a wink from Dark Charlie. Benny did not even want to know where the drink hailed from. All he knew was that no one provided better blood than Dark Charlie. He even sort of appreciated the flair with which Patrick had it delivered, and the fact that it was always fresh and warm. He sipped at it as he waited for the crowd to arrive. He was nearly always the first. He liked watching the others strut in. It was a stuttered parade of the sacred and the profane.

The figures at the table furthest from the entrance simply lounged and enjoyed the quiet before the storm. He gave a respectful nod to them collectively, and enjoyed the pleasurable thrill of fear the sight of them evoked, the wave of intoxicating power which could be felt swirling in the air around them. How these four had become acquaintances was another story he surely did not want to know. But the seventh table had always been the same, as far as Benny knew. At Dark Charlie’s table sat Patrick, Death the Grim Reaper, and Carver the Vessel of God.

He saw Death had gotten his dried fruit basket.

The next to arrive was a pair between whom no love was lost, bringing with them a hint of sulfur scent which Benny might have been the only one to smell. He did not know the particulars of the strife between them, but Meg the Demon and Ruby the Witch turned immediately away from one another as soon as they hit the door. Benny could remember when they had each been blondes. They had both shown up in brunette suits on the same week, and had been utterly disgusted by the sight of one another. But no words were ever spoken between them, even when they were seated at the same table, which Patrick did not allow to happen often, thankfully. Benny found himself smiling to see Meg heading for his table, the first. She sat across from him and smiled back. Ruby slid into her seat at table four and drank her cocktail without acknowledging the vampire at all. Just for spite, he waved at her, eliciting a roll of pretty eyes.

A trio came through the door presently, with the sound of wings fluttering. Two of them were laughing and smacking one another on the backs, while the third raised his eyebrow in irritation and walked straight ahead to table seven. His brothers followed quickly.

“Heya, Pop,” Gabriel the Trickster called irreverently. “Heard from Mike and Luci? They get reception where they are?”

Carver rolled his eyes. “Go play, Gabriel,” he intoned quietly.

“Still mad about Raph?”

There came no response.

Gabriel turned to Balthazar the Thief. “He’s still mad about Raph. Cassie, Dad’s still mad about Raph.”

“Perhaps our Father could have kept in better communication with the rest of the family, and avoided the unpleasantness,” Castiel the Fallen suggested, in that way he had of being entirely respectful and yet oozing of defiance at the same time. “In any case, we pay our respects, Father.”

Balthazar was grinning. “Our love to Michael and Luci if you do speak with them,” he said with just a hint of humor.

“Go…play,” Carver said again.

This time, each of the three of them bowed his head, and they separated to their respective tables. It was rare they sat together, but Benny was sorry to see that none of them would be sharing his table this time. Castiel removed his coat and loosened his tie at table six, Gabriel winked at his somber younger brother from table five, and Balthazar raised his glass to Benny from table four. Benny returned the gesture, then the Thief was immersed in conversation with the Witch next to him. Benny could not help smirking at the pair they made.

There came a chill in the air to mark the arrival of Victor the Witness, who appeared directly into his chair between Benny and Meg, startling the demon who probably did not sense the shift in temperature. Simultaneously, two figures came into view at table three, and both Bobby the Vengeful and Kevin the Unreaped Prophet sent pleasant smiles all around, which Benny requited happily. He turned to Victor.

“Glad to see you back, brother. Wasn’t sure you had fun last time.”

“Being placed across from someone who melted your skin off was not my first choice, but I’ve gotten over it. Speak of the devil’s whore.”

Lilith the First and Eve, Mother of All, walked in, arm in arm. They each smirked at table seven, then sat at table two without acknowledging the rest of the players. If they knew Victor was glowering at Lilith and Bobby at Eve, they gave no sign of caring.

In spite of the lovely blood in front of him, Benny’s nose tickled at the smell of human blood, and his ears pricked at the heartbeats approaching. He sniffed carefully, and caught Meg watching him. When he realized what the scent was, he rolled his eyes. “Freaking rabbits,” he muttered.

Meg laughed.

“What?” Victor wanted to know.

“I’ve been inside that brain right there, though it was a little less corrupted at the time. I know what that sneer means. Sam and Bela couldn’t wait for the game to start, let alone finish, before they were on each other.”

“Must make Daddy real proud,” Benny sighed.

“He should be,” Victor laughed. “You seen Bela?”

Soulless Sam followed in Bela the Procurer, and a few moments later, Sheriff Jody and John the Hunter slipped in with irritation on both faces. Sam smirked at his father, who stared back hard, then they each went to their tables. Jody simply shook her head and joined Bobby and Kevin at three. John and Bela were placed at table four, completing the foursome with Ruby and Balthazar. Victor remarked that he wished he could hear that conversation. Sam sat across from Castiel at table six, and they shared a few words that even Benny could not hear. Three new bags of various treats appeared at Death’s table as if willed there. Benny found this interesting. He wondered which of the four humans had chosen not to participate in the tradition this time around. His money was on Sam, who had given Patrick a nod at the entrance, which indicated that something had been taken care of. Still, even with Patrick’s chips, it was never a good idea to neglect a tribute to Death. Bela would certainly never do so, and Sam was interested in his own survival above most other things. Perhaps Jody or John was being stubborn.

The great room was beginning to fill with sound as conversations began. Preferred drinks were arriving at every seat just as the chair was filled, and many of the guests were beginning to relax and enjoy themselves. Gabriel seemed bored by himself, but he was near enough to Castiel to bother him without leaving his own seat, and Dark Charlie had wandered over to chat with him until the other players at his space arrived.

The biggest smile yet lit the bar as a sweet-natured werewolf sauntered in. Garth the Lycanthrope practically skipped up to Benny’s table, and the vampire sighed happily. Garth was a very difficult player to beat, but he was such good company that no one ever minded losing to him, except perhaps the Prophet, who took all competition quite seriously. Garth patted his corporeal opponents on the back, then headed off to hand chili fries to Death personally. To his knowledge, Garth was the only mortal who had the guts to do that.

War the Horseman headed straight for his brother upon entrance, ignoring for the moment the goddess who entered with him, which was just as well because Kali the Destroyer seemed to have no interest in him at all. She simply sat in her place next to Gabriel and set about trying to ignore him.

“Grim,” War said fondly. “I thought we could talk about-"

“Dark Charlie’s is not the place for alliances or business,” the Reaper reminded him quickly, while he looked into a paper bag to partake of its contents. He blinked at Garth. “These are from that street cart downtown.”

Garth grinned. “Dude, I knew you’d like them. They’re my favorite.” He returned to his seat, leaving the rest of those within earshot wondering if he was the only creature who got away with referring to Big Daddy Reaper as “dude.”

“Grim-"

Death turned his stare on his brother then. “I will consider it.”

War smiled. “Enjoy the game, big brother.” He sat at the table with Kali and Gabriel, and accepted his drink with a look of satisfaction on his face.

Benny sighed. Whatever deal Death had promised to consider would surely not be good for the rest of the world. But the world could deal with that tomorrow. Tonight was about poker.

Tessa the Reaper slipped in without a sound, and Dark Charlie hurried toward her to plant a kiss on her lips. Tessa smiled softly, then headed for table seven to pay her respects. Patrick gave her a sideways glance, and Carver continued to stare out over the room without speaking, but Death looked into her eyes silently. She nodded to him, then returned to place herself between Bobby and Jody. Benny noticed she reached across to touch Kevin’s hand gently, receiving a near-painful look of gratitude for the contact from the Prophet.

Soulless Sam was laughing now, and several of the players shivered as though the sound made their skin crawl, for those who had skin. In particular, Benny could see Bobby flinch away from the man, even though he was all the way across the room. The Hunter at table four, though, simply watched the large hollow human with a cold fascination which made Benny need to take another drink.

Dick Roman, CEO, and Crowley, King of Hell, were deep in negotiations which did not stop at the entrance. Dark Charlie had to stare them down to get them to refocus, and when she did, they smiled enormous fake smiles at one another, shook hands, and agreed they would continue at a later date. Crowley set himself down across from Castiel at six, while Dick took his place between Lilith and Eve at two. The females greeted him as if he were edible, and Dick reciprocated because he knew they were.

Last to join them were the three knights of Hell.

Cain, Father of Murder, and Demon Dean Winchester strode in to claim their seats with unreadable expressions on their faces. They exchanged the briefest of gazes, then did not acknowledge one another’s presence again. Cain took his place next to War and Gabriel, at five, and Dean dropped himself into the seat between Crowley and Castiel, across from the man who used to be his brother. Finally, Abaddon the Queen pushed her way in the door. She blew a kiss at table seven, to no one in particular, then sat across from the head of the Leviathans at table two.

Twenty-eight of the scariest and the sexiest this universe had to offer looked around the room and sipped at their drinks. At a nod from Carver, Patrick raised his hands, and the decks of cards at each table dealt themselves.


	3. Table One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny the Vamp  
> Victor the Witness  
> Garth the Lycanthrope  
> Meg the Demon
> 
> (Benny sits across from Meg, Victor across from Garth.)

Garth was probably the only one in the room drinking a wine cooler. He had heard Lilith liked them too, but he had never seen her drink one. It always made Bobby roll his eyes when he saw what Garth was served, but he didn’t care, and anyway, Bobby was over there making eyes at the Sheriff, so he could enjoy his drink in peace, without being called “princess.” He did not know Victor well, since he was fairly new to the games, but he had played with Benny and Meg before, and had always found them to be good company. It would be a shame to have to Garth them again.

Victor’s drink was only as corporeal as he was, much like Kevin’s and Bobby’s, but it seemed to be a neat whiskey. Benny, of course, was drinking spiked blood, and whatever Meg had smelled like Red Bull and burning. Garth always noticed his opponent’s drinks. He collected information like that as he had his whole life, without meaning to. 

When the deck had dealt out the first cards, the bets were placed, and chips clattered. Garth sighed happily. The conversation flowed easily as they played. Garth, Benny and Meg had been at this a very long time, and apparently Victor was no rookie either. 

“You know your way around a table,” Meg commented absently.

Garth followed her gaze over her shoulder to find that Castiel was the object of her attention. No surprise there. The only surprise was that Castiel was not staring back, but if Garth had Crowley and Dean at his table, he’d be concentrating too, and no one turned their back on Soulless Sam. 

Victor nodded. “Gotta have something to do while you’re in a surveillance van in a stakeout. Sleeping ain’t an option. No rest seems to be the theme of my existence.”

Garth grinned. “I like him,” he told Benny. “He’s funny.”

“I ain’t laughing,” Victor responded, tossing out a few more chips. Garth’s eyes widened. But after a beat, he gave Garth a small smile. “Just kidding. You’re the werewolf, I guess.”

“I prefer lycanthrope. But sure. And you’re the Witness.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

He nodded, then spoke slowly, eyes lowered to his cards. “So…feeling any uncontrollable rage for the chick that killed you or my buddy Dean who left you to die?”

“I’m getting by” was the dry response.

“Good.” 

“Notice you didn’t ask about Sam.”

“That isn’t Sam,” he said quietly, but let it drop. Ever since Sam had found a way to part with his soul again, rather than face the pain when Dean’s eyes had returned to black, Garth had considered his old friend dead. At least he could see Dean sometimes in the way he smiled. But Sam was gone, and no one was prepared to bring him back this time. Benny and Garth had met at Dark Charlie’s years ago, and they had bonded over what a shame it was that the brothers had finally both been corrupted at the same time, so that neither could save the other. Castiel, of course, had been devastated, but his most recent battle in Heaven had left him strangely off-kilter, and without the brothers to center him, and Benny had quietly suggested Garth not trust him completely. Not that Garth trusted anyone completely, aside from his wife and Reverend Jim. Bobby and the Winchesters were the last ones to receive that honor. And Death. He liked Death. That guy was great.

“You in, Meg?” he prodded gently.

“I’m thinking,” she snapped. At last, she folded. “Just take it, Wolfie,” she sighed. 

He smiled at her. “My pleasure, ma’am!”

As far as games at Dark Charlie’s went, this one was playing out fairly…fairly! Garth was surprised. Victor, as a Witness, could sense guilt, but Meg had none, and Benny and Garth were too practiced to give away a bluff. Benny could smell anxiety, as could Garth, but again, that meant little when playing with a ghost and a demon, and anyway, Meg’s slight scent of sulfur masked anything other than the alcohol and Benny’s blood. Meg would find it quite difficult to swing a possession in front of all these eyes. So regardless of what was going on at other tables, table one was playing old fashioned poker. And Garth was cleaning up, as always. He caught a wink from Dean all the way across the room which let him know his old friend had noticed his ever-growing pile of chips, and he laughed.


	4. Table Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lilith the First  
> Abaddon the Queen  
> Dick Roman, CEO  
> Eve, Mother of All
> 
> (Lilith sits opposite Eve, Abaddon across from Dick.)

Dick was competitive. There was no doubt about that. But he was very smart as well, and he knew that sometimes winning meant losing to the right person. Lilith was delightful in that pretty dental hygienist she was wearing tonight. Her sneer and her laugh were delicious, and the way she tapped her fingers on her cards and licked her lips made him hungry. Eve seemed to think so too, and she was watching Dick with barely concealed loathing. Dick did not care. It was Eve. She might call herself Mother of All, but she was no relation to him. Her pet dragons were chew toys for his kind. While he might not enjoy challenging her here in this world, at her full strength and in this human form of his, back home he knew there was a reason she kept alphas at her side, lest she become a snack. 

Lilith was mildly intriguing-he especially appreciated her teeth-and Eve was a mere nuisance, but across from him sat a masterpiece. Let Eve take Lilith home tonight, as she obviously intended to. Dick was smitten with the fiery knight who was taking all his chips. 

Yes, losing to the right person was often a strategy in itself. Dick suspected that the Devil did not make Abaddon do anything, regardless of the message on her shirt. He would continue to make deals with Crowley, to their mutual benefit, but as far as Dick was concerned, long live the Queen.


	5. Table Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa the Reaper  
> Bobby the Vengeful  
> Sheriff Jody Mills  
> Kevin, Unreaped Prophet
> 
> (Tessa sits opposite Kevin, Bobby across from Jody.)

Jody held her own quite well, being one of the only humans in the room. It was hard to consider Sam a human, and whatever had resurrected John Winchester had left his sense of humor in Heaven, so it was hard to think of him that way either. Bela was despicable, but something about her reminded Jody of Alex, and so she steered clear of that psychological headache when she could. Dark Charlie? Patrick? Who could call them human?

It had been hard to see Bobby like this for a long time. But gradually, when the guy’s vengeful tantrums had been weathered down into his usual grumpiness, even with Dick Roman in the room, it had gotten easier. She liked this Kevin guy, in spite of his tendency to take the games a bit too seriously. His sarcasm and cleverness always reminded Jody of herself, for better or worse. Tessa was difficult to know, since she was so quiet, but she had never felt as though the Reaper were a threat at all, even when she sometimes flashed her eyes in irritation at Dean Winchester. Jody suspected Tessa only attended because of Dark Charlie. Jody had seen quite a bit of death in her life, more than most humans, even in this world. Tessa the Reaper was more a comfort than a menace to Jody Mills. 

This was a good table. For one thing, Jody was extremely aware of the location of every exit, and table three was not far from one. Also, at her back sat Ruby, but John was next to the Witch, and regardless of his lack of humor, she knew John could move fast enough to have Jody’s back if necessary, and John protected humans at all costs. Real humans, that is. For another thing, Bobby was across from her, and she knew he would be alert to any danger as well. Jody had never seen any real violence at Dark Charlie’s, but she knew better than to be caught unaware if there ever was.

It was also a good dynamic. Bobby was every bit the Bobby she remembered, now that he had the vengeful thing under control. The Prophet was always good for a laugh, and he was a darn good player too. Tessa was a quiet, passive player, but Jody found her fascinating when she occasionally chose to speak. Bobby said that when she had met Kevin, something strange had taken place between them. Tessa was a Reaper who could not reap a Prophet whose soul was stuck in transit, nor would she reveal whether or not Death would allow it eventually. It was unlikely she even knew that answer. Death and Carver worked in mysterious ways, and if anyone knew that, it was Kevin Tran.

Jody held her own, for a human, and she managed to seem entirely unafraid and unimpressed when staring across a table at any one of the other players, regardless of their nature or power. The only exceptions were Abaddon and Kali. She had once spent a very intense evening at a table with the two females and Dean Winchester, and her head had been left spinning so that she suffered insomnia for a week after. 

Tonight would be far more relaxing.

“Your ante, Sheriff,” Kevin said quietly.

“How’s your mom, Kev?” she responded. 

Bobby snickered. Jody might not be able to get into Tessa’s head, but she could certainly sideline poor Kevin with ease. That was Jody’s secret to poker. She had the best bluff in the department back home, and she was adept at distracting other players with nothing but a smile and a few politely spoken words. 

Kevin cleared his throat, which was entirely unnecessary. He sipped at his energy drink moodily. Jody was certain he was the only one at Dark Charlie’s who was never served alcohol. “She’s good, Sheriff,” he sighed. “Really, really good.”

The ghost to his left laughed. “Jody Mills, you playing or what?”

“I’m playing, codger. Quit bitching.”

Tessa noted Jody’s play and nodded.

“Stop doing that, Tess.”

“What?”

“Acting like you know what I’m doing.”

The Reaper shrugged. “I’m not acting like anything. Except perhaps that I’m certain Bobby has a better hand than you do, and yet you’re playing recklessly. But that’s not for me to decide.”

Jody rolled her eyes. “Bobby, you got a better hand than me?”

“Than I,” Kevin muttered.

The old hunter let out a chuckle. “Guess we’ll see, Sheriff. You got a better hand than Kevin. He’s missing a finger, you know.”

The Prophet glared. “It grew back. Cas grew it back.”

“I hear the King’s still got it in a jar in his trophy room,” Bobby said as he leaned a bit across the table to Jody conspiratorially.

 “He does not.”

“Yeah, Bobby,” Jody chimed in as she shifted her cards in her hand, “what he said was he carries a bit of Kevin with him everywhere he goes. Must be in his pocket.”

“Maybe it’s a keychain! It could be a keychain!”

“It isn’t a keychain!” Kevin shouted.

Tessa sighed. “Kevin, I’m sure it’s rotted by now. I fold.” She sat back and sipped at her gin and tonic while glancing at Dark Charlie across the way, while Bobby and Jody laughed.

It was clear within a few hands that Bobby was going to take the night, but Jody minded less than Kevin did. For her, poker-especially in this place-was an opportunity to get to know people-creatures-better, and a way to enjoy the company of friends, even grouchy, incorporeal ones like Kevin and Bobby.


	6. Table Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bela the Procurer  
> Balthazar the Thief  
> Ruby the Witch  
> John the Hunter
> 
> (Bela sits across from Ruby, John opposite Balthazar.)

John disliked Bela very much. Dean had warned him he was going to. But she was a human, even if she was a bad one. And if push came to shove, he would protect her. But if he had to choose to save one over another, he would definitely move to protect Jody Mills first. 

He had seen the way Jody’s eyes flitted around the room at every face, every object, every exit. Her unafraid smirk reminded him of Ellen, and her obvious instinct to protect reminded him of Mary. She was a tough bitch, and he loved that. She was also a kind person, and he loved that too. She had the same look of loss on her face when she saw Sam that he had, and the same look of conflicted emotion whenever she talked to Dean. She seemed to loathe the King of Hell, which he found amusing, and she seemed to be certain she could kick his ass if necessary, which he found incredibly attractive. 

But this was poker, and neither the questionable human to the right of him nor the intriguing one at the table off to the left was going to distract him from it. John took his poker very seriously. 

Balthazar and Bela had never sat at a table together before, but they had hit it off instantly when they discovered they shared a mutual policy of grabbing something valuable and faking their own deaths. John and Ruby had each rolled their eyes at this, and at the constant flirtation between them during the game. Ruby had referred to John as her former in-law once, and that had ended any positive interaction between the two of them, not that there was likely to be one, but they could at least agree on their disgust regarding the thieves. Balthazar was currently bragging that he had twice successfully faked his own death, and Bela was countering it with having stolen back the contract for her own soul from Lilith’s vault. 

In the meantime, John was collecting chips. Balthazar and Bela were wrapped up in one another, and John could feel Ruby staring at Sam behind him. When faced with losing a large pot which might seal his win or his defeat, John resorted to the casual mention of Bela’s encounter with his younger son just minutes before they had entered Dark Charlie’s, thereby disrupting the composure of all three of his opponents, and revealing their tells as they all attempted not to care. 

John Winchester took his poker very seriously.


	7. Table Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel the Trickster  
> Kali the Destroyer  
> War the Horseman  
> Cain, Father of Murder
> 
> (Gabriel sits opposite War, Cain sits across from Kali.)

“So that’s the plot of the next Casa Erotica.” Loki wiggled his eyebrows smugly.

Kali sighed. She knew Loki was talking, but she preferred to listen to the rush of power in the room.

War laughed and clapped his hands together in delight. “Brilliant!” he said. “Love it. Love it. Gabriel, you’ll appreciate this. Did I ever tell you I once started a war solely to settle which goddess was loveliest?”

The goddess at the table glared. “I suspect you are referring to deities who have nothing better to offer but their beauty?” she said as she lay down a small stack of chips.

“I don’t know,” War argued. “One of them was mine. Athena. She’s a bit temperamental, as you may know.”

“Oh, I know,” Loki reported, then cringed under Kali’s stare, folding his hand quickly.

Cain glanced at his cards for a moment. “I fought alongside Athena once, though she likely knew me by another name. Who can remember now?”

War frowned at him. “Were you known as Hades? I thought you looked familiar.”

“One of my early personas,” Cain replied softly.

Kali liked this human. Knight. Demon. Whatever he was. She liked him. He was so matter of fact about his destruction. It was like he accepted, as so few did, that destruction was the most powerful force in the universe, and he was merely an implement of it. She thought she may have heard that he had felt some guilt over it at one time or another, but he seemed to be past that now.

The Trickster was staring at her again. “Loki,” she murmured, “remove your eyes before I do.”

“Is it any wonder I love her?” the archangel asked the others.

“It’s a bit of a wonder she hasn’t killed you,” Cain admitted.

War accepted two cards from the deck as he tossed two. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Abaddon, though, am I right?”

The other three stared at him.

He shrugged. “You guys got no imagination.”


	8. Table Six: Castiel Across from Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Table six from the points of view of Castiel and Crowley.

"Hiya, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

Castiel shot a glower at Patrick as Dean sat down beside him. The grimy witch gave him a wink and continued chewing on his toothpick.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Hello, Dean. Cas, can I ask what part of our dear dealer you tried to stick your Grace into? Since I didn't get his trousers in a wad, it must have been you who arranged for this delightful seating arrangement."

"Well, hello to you too, bestie," Dean snarled.

"Patrick likes me," Sam smirked.

"Being a witch's little bitch as unsanitary as it sounds, Sammy?"

"Dad asked about you. I told him you're hard at work as Hell's fury. He looked real proud.”

Crowley shrugged. "Look, I can't do every bit of torturing myself. Your brother has unique talent, and you can't take issue with the guy's work ethic."

Dean sniggered.

Castiel accepted his cards quietly after anteing. He was unsure why he still attended these games. At first, he had heard his Father could be found here. Once relief and elation had simply turned to another form of bitter disappointment, he had continued to come because he could rendezvous with Meg after. Getting John Winchester resurrected had come with an added bonus.

No cure for the Mark of Cain meant Dean was back in black when he died while he, Sam and Castiel were hunting down Metatron and the last of his loyalists who had sprung him from Heaven’s prison. Sam had fled to the bunker with Dean, but Castiel had returned, after he and Hannah had disposed of Metatron, to find Dean was gone and Sam had found some ritual to extract his own soul so he could bear to hunt down his brother. When Castiel had protested, the crazed man had spat, "Making me promise to hunt him was his dying wish. I know he made you promise too, but I’m not putting on you what should be on me. This time I’m doing what I should have done before, what I was too weak to do. I’m going to hunt my brother. But I’m sure as hell not doing it sober. I’ve done what I can for this godless universe. The Winchesters don’t owe it anything. I’m going to do this one last thing, but I’ll be damned if I’ll do it while I can feel it.”

Sam needed a witch’s help for the spell. Crowley refused and Rowena hated him. James Frampton was not powerful enough. So he had found Patrick, who had been intrigued, but unwilling. But he made a counter-offer, which Sam had accepted. Castiel had never learned what Sam had done to convince him, or how he had paid him, but Patrick had brought back Ruby. 

Castiel had enlisted Crowley's assistance in resurrecting figures from Sam's past to aid him in stopping his friend before the ritual could be completed. With the help of Rowena’s spellbook, the demon King brought back John, Bobby and Meg when Castiel had sought out the great influences in Sam's life beyond Dean himself. Meg was a strange but pleasant surprise. Crowley was less impressed, saying they were lucky that Azazel and Lucifer were not the ones summoned instead, and informing Castiel that since their joint ventures always yielded questionable results, he would no longer be partaking in them. Bobby had resisted being brought back just as stubbornly as he had resisted being reaped, and the old Hunter had become the first human to be ripped out of Heaven into the form of a pissed off and vengeful spirit. Death insisted on berating Castiel personally, for this was something so far beyond what is natural and permissible that it was an affront to the universe itself. For spite, Death had snapped Tessa back into existence as well, and punished Castiel by forcing him to explain and apologize for her brainwashing and suicide at the hands of Metatron. 

In the end, bringing back John in an attempt to keep Sam from giving up his soul again had been useless, since by the time they found him, it was done. Deep in the throes of demon blood and grief, Sam had gone through with the ritual. The irony of course was that once the Witch had done her work, a strung out soulless Sam had no interest in destroying the brother he had drunk blood to defeat. When all was said and done, all Castiel had managed to do was to bring John back to see the horrible things his sons had become. Castiel himself had slipped into a damaged mental state, wracked by guilt and grief, and knowing he should destroy the brothers, but utterly unable to bring himself to do so when he blamed himself for their state.

Meg had been his one comfort, but they saw one another only here at Dark Charlie’s. It had been years now, and the occasional summoning invitation came far too infrequently. On the other hand, it came far too often, as so many of these players brought not the bittersweet memories of time with Meg but horrible guilt and loathing. At one time or another, he had helped bring pain or even death to half the creatures in this room. Nearly all of them had done the same to him. 

Yet he came. Every time. 

“I’m in,” Castiel said quietly in answer to Sam’s cold gaze. 

***

Crowley glanced at his hand, and folded without a word. He looked around the room at the lovely faces. He would be lying if he said he did not love these gatherings. He rarely won, but he always walked away with a new prospect or three. Cain’s appearance had surprised him back in the day. He had thought Dean had ended the Knight. But Knights in general had a funny way of coming back when it was least convenient, first blade or no first blade. Crowley had questioned Dark Charlie about Cain and Abaddon once, and she had smiled and said something entirely too geeky about alternate universes and a show from the 1990s about sliding somewhere, and he had stopped listening. In any case, she was utterly full of bullshit, because Dean had admitted to learning that the death by first blade thing had fine print attached to it. Loopholes were how he made his living, and his killing, so Crowley could respect that, though it would have been nice to know that Abaddon and Cain were only dead temporarily. In any case, neither of them seemed to have him on their list at the moment, and Dean was fully prepared to send them, albeit temporarily, again to their deaths, should they raise their heads too high again. 

So he had his own Knight, beaten into submission by the Mark itself. Dean knew he was better off getting his victims from Crowley than walking the Earth looking for them. It had been easier than the first time. Crowley suspected that this had something to do with the fact that his brother was gone now. There had been just that one nagging little detail last time, which Crowley had effectively eliminated from the equation this time around, by stalling Castiel’s adorable corpse reunion and intervention just long enough for Sam to complete his ritual. He nearly felt sorry for the poor angel who had failed so miserably at everything he had ever done, and lost everything he had ever tried to save, so he had allowed for that bitch Meg’s return along with John and Bobby. He might be the King of Hell, but he wasn’t cruel.

Crowley glanced across the room at Dick Roman, who was grinning that ridiculous grin at Abaddon, and Eve, who was giving the same look to Lilith. He frowned. What was the point in having access to him and Eve, freshly reborn from their last stint in Purgatory, if he lost him them both to pretty faces? Purgatory still had a lot of souls to mine, and Crowley had never given up on them. After the game, he would have to seduce one or the other, and that did not look like it was going to be easy.


	9. Table Six: Sam Across from Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Table Six, from the perspective of Sam and Dean.

There was part of Sam that could remember having been good at poker. But that was a very long time ago, and now he was entirely terrible. He pretended he did not care, but it angered him. Especially when he lost to Dean. 

There was something slightly different about being without a soul this time. He could not put his finger on it, except that he seemed to feel more things now. He wondered if that was the demon blood. The feelings never lasted long, and they were easily pushed aside, but they were there, irritating him. It never kept him from doing what he wanted to do, but it sometimes made him hesitate inexplicably, and that infuriated him, which was yet another emotion he did not remember having before. 

It was all very confusing. He opted to push all emotions aside whenever he felt one, and that helped. Whenever they threatened to return, he drank in large quantities, both alcohol and blood, and this seemed to work. 

The drink he held now was a spiked glass of demon blood, and it was amazing. He had once tried to ask Dark Charlie where it came from, and was cut off by a shove from Benny. He had whirled on the Vamp, ready to reach for his weapon, but Benny’s hand went up. “Brother, you don’t ask where Dark Charlie gets the stuff. You stupid soulless drunk. You give up your brain too?”

“I am this close to cutting that ugly head off like I should have done years ago.”

“Try it. You’ll be dead before you start. You know the rules. And one of the ones ain’t posted is that you don’t ask Dark Charlie no questions. You’ll get yourself killed. Boy, you got no instinct, you know that? No wonder you can’t tell a bluff when it’s posing for you!”

“Get out of my way.”

Benny had shaken his head sadly. “I didn’t like you before, kid. But we mighta been friends at one time. You are the most messed up thing I ever saw now.” 

Sam had gone back to his table, fuming, and had dumped the entire drink down his throat. 

And now he was staring across the table at the guy who used to be his brother, and it shouldn’t hurt but it did a little, and so he did what he always did and tossed his drink back and waited for a new one to appear before doing it again. When a rush of warm blood and burning alcohol reached his veins, he found he no longer cared that the man he had looked up to his whole life was wearing black eyes because his little brother had failed to save him.

***

Dean resented the new rules. Two new rules, just for him. That was a bit excessive, he thought. He had sulked when he had seen them. But it was hard to stay angry in a place like this. With his black eyes, he was free to enjoy every bit of it, and not have to worry about a world that didn’t want to be saved crumbling around him. He didn’t have to worry about Sammy having lost his very essence, having drown himself in alcohol and demon blood, screwing every female that came near enough. Hell, if Sammy could do it, why couldn’t he? If Sammy had given up, what was there left for Dean? Because he had meant it when he said those words in Sam’s head all those years ago. “There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you.” So now that Sammy had gone off the reservation and locked the gate behind him, there was no point in Dean not doing the same. Screw the world. Screw the whole, stupid, kamikaze world. It wanted to go over the cliff. So let it. Dean was a demon again, and he was going to love it this time. Castiel wanted to drink with him? Great. Sam wanted to hunt something nasty? Awesome. Crowley wanted someone tortured? Dean was his guy. It didn’t even bother him that Castiel always wanted to drink, that Sam always wanted to hunt, and that Crowley always had someone to be tortured. Why should he care? He didn’t sleep. Or if he did, it was because he felt like it. And that was the point of all this.

Castiel was drinking a lot lately. It was hard to keep track tonight, since he himself had already enjoyed enough to make his head foggy. There was a strange sense of deja vu that plagued him when it got like this, but he shoved it back under the category of things he didn’t care about. He grabbed at Crowley’s glass of Craig and swallowed it while the King was staring off at another table. Then he looked at where he was staring. His teeth clenched, and he rubbed absently at his Mark. Abaddon, Dick Roman, Eve. And Lilith. He had killed three of those four. His Mark whispered to him that he could handle Lilith, and could make it an even four of a kind. That was the bitch who assigned Ruby to ruin Sam the first time. How had Lilith even crawled her way back out of Death’s backyard anyway? It didn’t matter. He could take her, make it permanent this time.

The angel was watching him with those sad, weary eyes again. He sighed and refocused on the game. “Stop giving me the creepy eyes, Cas. I placed my bet.”

“You did,” the angel agreed. “I’m sorry.” He lowered his cards to the table.

He rolled his eyes, and let them flash black just for Castiel. “Stop being such a buzzkill, Cas.” 

Castiel looked at him for too long, and things he wasn’t supposed to care about anymore began to float toward the surface. It was not supposed to hurt that Castiel was such a mess again. It was not supposed to hurt that he and Sam kept sniping at one another. It was not supposed to hurt that he had given in to Crowley’s games this time. What good were the black eyes if they didn’t dim those too-bright, piercing stabs of raw emotion? 

“I’m all in,” he announced, in case it was not obvious, and turned to sneer at Sam. The man stared back, flustered. Dean did not blink. Old Sam might have been able to see past the bluff, but not now. Not high, drunk and soulless. It was too easy. The Sammy he remembered had been a challenge, had known him so well there was no way to pull something over on him when he looked directly into Dean’s green eyes. That Sammy would have known to call. 

This Sam simply shrugged, dropped his cards, and went back to enjoying his drink moodily. 

Dean collected his pot, but it felt like a hollow victory.


	10. Table Seven: Patrick and Dark Charlie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Table Seven sits Patrick, a 900 year old Witch, and Dark Charlie, the hostess of the games. Also there is Death, the Grim Reaper, and Carver, the Vessel of God, who play their own game between the two of them.

Patrick could hear the quiet, occasional hums of the two ageless creatures beside him. Their game was not poker, and never would be. Their game was chess, unlike any game of chess any other creature had ever seen before. Patrick felt honored to be one of two (relatively) mortal beings to even see it. He knew it would take another several millennium for him to understand it. So far as he could tell, there was no way to win this game Death and Carver played constantly. There seemed only to be a way to lose, and thus far, neither of them ever had. Even the idea that there could be a loser without a winner made Patrick shake his head.

Dark Charlie’s eyes drifted around the room before she settled into the chair next to him and fanned through her own deck. Patrick laughed to see the cards were filled with cartoon versions of some of the strangest creatures he had ever seen, like a tarot deck with statistics, created by an artist on liquid acid. She was an odd one, Dark Charlie.

“So?” he murmured to her as he lazily commanded the decks from his chair.

“So?” she repeated.

“Any idea how long it’s been?”

“For us or for them?”

“Both,” he chuckled, moving his toothpick to the other side of his mouth.

“For them? They’ve been here about an hour and a half.”

He nodded. “And how long have they really been here?”

She shrugged carelessly. “Does it matter?”

“No. But I’m curious. I do deal in time, you know. It’s why I’m here.”

Dark Charlie glanced at the chess game for a few moments, then smiled. Dark Charlie was so pretty when she smiled. “It’s been about three hundred fifty years, give or take.”

Patrick gave a low whistle. “Yikes. And not one of them suspects?”

“Why would they? They’ve got memories of having come here many times before, and not one of them has a clear idea of how long they’ve been coming. They think the game ends; they think they go home after. They think they return for another game, and it doesn’t occur to them to wonder what they did between games, or if it does, they create a story for themselves to believe.”

“What gets me is the way they rationalize it in their heads.”

Dark Charlie sighed. “When something doesn’t make sense, even an angel or a Leviathan or a vampire will try to wrap its brain around a mystery until it solves itself. Listen to Castiel’s thoughts one day.”

Patrick smirked. “I have. That is one damaged angel.”

“He has found a way to blame himself for everything that happened to every creature in the room. It’s the most narcissistic self-loathing I’ve ever seen. He has this elaborate story he’s created in his head about how all these people he thought were dead have come back, and how he failed to save them all again.”

“John’s still trying to convince himself he has to hunt his sons.”

“I know. He might be the saddest one in the pack, though he’s got some hope in Jody. And then there’s Kali. She’s still certain she will be the last one standing.”

“Crowley still thinks he’s going to find Purgatory.”

At last, Dark Charlie gave him a laugh. “Yeah. I’d give my best deck to see his face if he ever found out his mother inherited the throne, then lost the whole realm to a developer from Purgatory.” Then she sobered. “For me, though, I still have trouble seeing Sam and Dean the way they see themselves. I wish I could tell them, and their father, that this isn’t the real them. Sam didn’t lose his soul, didn’t go back to the blood. Dean doesn’t have black eyes. They’re doing this to themselves. So many eons of believing they failed has turned them into these warped things. I wish I could make them understand they’re doing it to themselves.”

“Not a single one of them understands.”

“And they won’t,” Dark Charlie insisted. “Grim and Chuck have determined that this is the safest place to hold all of them. This can be their Heaven or Hell or Purgatory, depending on how they see it, but the world can’t handle them. It’s better to keep them all within sight of one another than let them tear apart the world and three realms and who knows what else just to destroy one another. Chuck was pissed the last time He had to remake everything after Lucifer and Michael destroyed the first world. Nobody wants to go through that again. No. Everything is better like this. They choose whether to make this enjoyable or torturous, but in the end, it doesn’t matter, because they aren’t getting out. Grim and Chuck won’t allow it.”

Patrick flicked his wrist to imbue his decks with renewed power. “Ever wonder why some of them were chosen?”

Dark Charlie shrugged. “We take that part on faith. Grim and Chuck wouldn’t bring them here after death if it weren’t instrumental to the survival of creation. Maybe They are just covering Their bases with some of them, playing it safe. Maybe They chose some of them because they make the others happy. I don’t know.”

“And why you, Charlie? I deal in time. This is my gig. I mean…I know I’m dead.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

“Of course. It’s why I can’t tell how long we’ve been here any more than they can. It’s why I have to ask you.”

Dark Charlie smiled at him. “You’re a smart cookie, Patrick.”

“I’ve known for a long time. I don’t know how or when I died, but it makes sense that Grim and Carver brought me in to work this job. It’s a pleasant enough way to spend eternity. Especially considering how hard I worked to avoid spending it somewhere else. But you, Charlie.”

“What about me?”

“You’re here because you choose to be. I don’t understand that. I never have.”

“Would you believe me if I said the Reaper is just really hot?”

Patrick smirked. “She is. But no. I wouldn’t believe that. I called people’s bluffs for a living. Literally. So? What are you doing here, Charlie?”

“I’m here because someone has to be. Someone has to protect the patients. Grim and Chuck aren’t here any more than They are anywhere else. A bit of Them is here, but do you honestly think this place has Their attention any more than any other? Grim had a soft spot for Tessa, and before He let her die and come here, He let her reap one last soul. Mine. I came with her when He brought her here, and before He could send me wherever I belonged, I asked to stay. Chuck took me aside and told me the story of what was going on here. I said I still wanted to stay. He told me I belonged in Heaven. I asked to stay. So He let me. Most of me, anyway. Celeste is in Heaven. I’m all that’s left of her. It was a good arrangement. Celeste deserves to be in Heaven. I really don’t.”

 “Are you glad you stayed?”

“Of course. Someone has to protect the patients. That’s what we are, Patrick. We give them something other than just a white wall coma to live through.”

Patrick received yet another glare from Castiel as he realized for the millionth time that he was meant to sit at a table with both Winchesters and Crowley. He returned the wink he had been giving longer than he could remember, and watched as the King gave one of his colorful accusations that Castiel had somehow annoyed Patrick. In spite of the seamless, eternal looping of time, Crowley seemed to have a different way to barb the poor angel every single time. Regardless, Castiel glowered down at his cards in the exact same way. “You sure this is better than a blank room? For all of them, I mean?”

She smiled sadly at that. “Some of them wouldn’t believe a story that didn’t have them as the villain. That isn’t our fault. And there isn’t much we can do about it. Over the years, I’ve tried a thousand times to change their perceptions. Nothing I do or say makes any difference. It might help for a while, but they always return to believing what makes sense to them.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Patrick gave her a small smile and switched out his toothpick for a new one. “Care to play a hand?”

She put her own, strange deck into its case and slipped it into her jacket pocket. “Deal, Witch Man.”

“Five draw, not a thing wild, and the sky’s the limit. Place your bet, lovely lady.”

***

Dark Charlie gazed over her realm as Patrick dealt, watched the constant bustle of personalities and friction of egos, the barely masked desire and the barely restrained hatred, the blatant cheating and the friendly barbing, the scowls and smiles, the laughs of all sorts. The games played themselves out differently nearly every time, but then the loop began again, and interactions began anew. Patrick was right. This was not a bad way to spend eternity. The company was good.


End file.
